Lunar Cycles
by Scilera
Summary: This can't be happening. Remus Lupin has managed 143 full moons without his pack, without his mate.  He didn't realize it would take that long to go insane. Set in PoA timeline, will be AU in later chapters.  RemusSirius.
1. Hide and Seek

_Where are we?_ Remus Lupin thought to himself as he blinked sleepily, rubbing the heel of his palm over tired eyes. Wherever it was, it was dark. He was also alone. _What the hell?_

He sat up, holding his head until the aches dulled and he could feel the blood shift back to its normal places. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It had always taken only a moment. He could smell rain, earth and wet dog—wet dog? That was Sirius' smell. Almost instinctively he reached a hand over to what had always been his lover's place. The space was warm, as if a body had just left it.

Remus' heart skipped a beat.

Wanting—no _needing_ to see, he stumbled through the room and yanked open the heavy drapes. Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting the dust that floated through the air. It had been displaced during his dash to the window, and was only now settling back into the carpet.

Remus had always been intrigued by this carpet. Sirius had picked it up from somewhere or other and had brought it home, saying they needed a nice reading rug, and this would be perfect. It was the one thing of _theirs_ that he'd kept, even all these years.

The patterns were odd, they'd tickled something in his memory and it had bothered him for months before he'd found the reason. It was in an old Muggle textbook he'd taken from the nearest library.

He had placed it on the table in front of an eating Sirius, and pointed to a picture on the page opened.

"See there? That's what's on that rug of yours." His voice was a bit triumphant.

"Circles in dirt?" Sirius had asked, rather unhelpfully. He'd looked up then, and smiled at what must have been a very disheveled-looking Remus. "Moony, love, you need a bath."

"The books were dusty." He'd said simply, brushing a hand over his fringe in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. "But look Pads, _look_." And Sirius had obliged him with a crooked smile.

"Crop circles," He'd read aloud. "A phenomenon that has never been fully explained, though some cases report the possibility of vandalism, such as this example from a farm in Dover." He couldn't read anymore, he was laughing too hard. "I used to _make_ these. James and I, we'd go out to some bloke's farm over summer hols and stamp the hay and howl." He'd looked back at the lanky lad standing over him. "Never knew we'd made designs out of it. You really _do_ need a bath. You smell like books."

And despite Remus' loud protestations, he'd been carted upstairs and given just that. Though to be fair, it hadn't gotten rid of the book smell.

A shiver ran down his naked back, despite the relative warmth of the room. Countless nights had been spent sprawled across this very rug, tracing the designs with his finger as he tried desperately to understand why.

Whether or not he believed in crop circles, their likenesses gave him no answers.

He turned rather sharply to close the curtains, but another wave of dizziness hit him and he sank to his knees into the plush carpet. For long moments the room spun wildly, seemingly in time with the pain he could feel everywhere. Last night had not been easy.

He ached in places he didn't normally ache, even on the day after the full moon. Muscles he didn't think he used to change were sore and stiff. If for no other reason than to try and find a focal point for his wavering mind, Remus tried to remember what had happened.

Even in his delusional state he could remember some things, flashes of color or a particularly strong scent or taste. Pack. He remembered Pack. But this couldn't be right. His pack had been disassembled long ago, ravished by war and betrayal.

But try as he might, he couldn't. Images of running free, fenced in by white teeth and black fur were all he could conjure beyond the feeling of Pack.

_Remus m'lad, you have finally gone completely mental._ He thought to himself, and this realization seemed to make things resettle. The walls didn't swirl and the floor stayed firmly under him. Time to get up then and start the day.

Shuffling feet made a funny sound going down the hall at this time of day. And as Remus glanced out the window he judged it to be late afternoon. It was early August, and the air was hazy.

His kitchen wasn't much better. For some reason the air was stuffier in this part of his house. Not that it was much better in the other rooms, but there was enough to notice a difference. It was also darker than he'd like, the only light coming from the small window above the sink, and the sun was in the wrong place for that be of much help.

He knew some hot tea would do his body good, but he couldn't bring himself to stoke the fire and heat the room further. He knelt and looked in the old icebox that served as his refrigerator.

Pint of milk, bit of shaved ham, some lemons and—iced tea? Remus sat back on his heels and thought hard. He hadn't made any iced tea. At least, he didn't think he'd made any.

A moment's thought yielded nothing, and remembering his previous conclusion as to his relative sanity, he shrugged and grabbed the pitcher.

There was a sparse enough selection of dishes in his cupboards, but there was a small cup—dusty but usable.

After a few shaky attempts at pouring the tea, and a rather comical fight with the dishrag he used to try and clean up the mess he'd made, Remus sat at his kitchen table, tea in hand and a spread of parchment around him.

He sipped the tea as he leafed through some of the pages: lesson plans for the upcoming autumn term. He was glad indeed of the job, though he was worried. Dumbledore trusted him, but there were others, Snape not the least of them, who didn't. Remus had never been good at confrontation. It had always been his friends who'd done the standing up for him.

Skimming down the segment of his chosen textbook for the third years, Remus wondered vaguely where he'd come up with a boggart. He glanced up to find his glass in the mess of papers, when he saw something that made his blood freeze. A pair of very familiar gray eyes stared at him from a shadowy corner of the room. Not for the first time, Remus thought it'd be best to invest in electricity instead of relying on these candles—conveniently forgetting his distaste for bright light. He rubbed his eyes.

The eyes were gone.

_This can't be happening._

That was Remus' only thought as he rose from the table, knocking his chair over in the process. Long fingers raked through his mousy tousled hair as he dug around for his shoes and a shirt, pulled them on, and left the house—he had to get out of here. As he turned and locked the door, the large tawny post owl fluttered down, his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in its beak.

"Just leave it on the table." Remus instructed distractedly, waving his hand in that general direction. "Seeds are there." He said, opened the door to let the owl fly past him, and then closed it again, clicking the lock as he did so. _This is good._ He thought to himself. _Never a better cure for madness than a bit of sun, air and good Muggle curry._

As he walked down the street, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers, Remus J. Lupin began to think the entire world had gone mad. Everywhere he went people seemed nervous, some nearly panicking. Everyone stood in clumps, some seeming to read something, others talking in hushed voices, some gathered in front of shop windows where the Muggle news came through stacks of televisions.

It was so odd to see no children out on such a nice day.

Remus craned his neck to try and see what all this fuss was about, but he couldn't quite make it out, and the one time he asked, the old man only gaped at him and said "Why, don't you know?" before looking over his shoulder and skittering away as quickly as possible. Frustrated and more confused than when he'd left, he rounded a corner and made his way up the hill that would take him back to his house. Curry be damned.

The old alley took him up the hill and alongside an old rail yard. He was seeing shadows take shape everywhere as he trudged through the rapidly dimming light. The sky seemed to realize that it was cruel to be so bright when the mood was so drear, and clouds rolled in, turning the evening grey. He passed a coal car bearing a rather large advertisement for "Suzie's Super Sewing Machines" and swore he saw a big dog lying beneath it. But blink and it was gone.

The whole trip home was like that, made worse by the fact that it had started to pour—again. Remus was convinced that England was vying to be the next Atlantis, another gem to add to her bloody crown. He fished the key out of his pocket, turned the lock and stepped inside.

His shirt—now soaked through—was tossed haphazardly on the back of his small sofa as he stormed up the stairs. His temper was frayed by his apparent insanity, worn down by thirteen years of seeing ghosts around corners. Today had been bad. He'd never seen so many ghosts in one day. Remus had always known he'd go insane eventually, if not from the mad antics of his friends, then from the strain of being a werewolf. In later years he reasoned it would be from the stress of the war. Now he knew why he'd gone mad, and it wasn't from any of these things, though doubtless they'd contributed to tipping the scales.

It was losing Sirius that had done it.

He'd lost him in a way that was worse than death. Sirius was gone, fully, completely and totally. And worse, there wasn't any proof that he'd ever actually _been_. The Sirius he knew and loved never would have betrayed his best mate, but that's just what he'd done. It made everything Remus had come to believe in seem like a lie.

But then he'd remember the warm and gentle hands on his own cold skin, the brilliant smile, the eyes that would stare at him lovingly when Sirius thought he wasn't looking. That was real, wasn't it?

Remus growled loudly as he gripped the sides of his head, knowing these thoughts very well, and also knowing they'd get him nowhere. It was funny, but most of the time he didn't _feel_ like a madman; he felt totally in control and quite clear-headed. That was the odd thing.

He stormed down the hall, glancing up at the walls as he went. There were oily marks there, on the places where once had hung pictures of him, of Sirius, of the four Marauders, of him and Sirius together. The memories had become too painful in the first years following the Potters' death and Sirius' imprisonment, and Remus had taken them down. He'd always meant to burn them, or at the very least to shred them and throw them away.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

There was a certain insensitivity to this still life he led, and somehow the photographs, even tucked away in their snug little boxes made it a little easier, lifted the loneliness just enough for it to be bearable.

There, up at the end of the hallway, a flash of lightning illuminated a large and furry shape, and Remus held his breath, but by the time he reached the door to his room, there was nothing there. There was, to his surprise, the sound of panting behind him. Remus whipped around, but there was nothing besides an old end table.

He'd never _heard_ ghosts before either. At least not while awake.

This made Remus furious. He was sane goddammit! Moving quickly, he tore open the door to the spare room across the hall, tossing things aside and looking in every conceivable nook and cranny.

Nothing.

On to the boxroom Remus had turned into a workspace, and then he tore through the little bathroom and the entire downstairs. It was like a twisted game of hide and seek.

"Sirius! I know you're here. Damn you, come out! I'm not mad! I'm not bloody mad!" His shouts shook the small house, as did his exploits. His breath was raw and ragged, coming in short gasps as he flew up the stairs to tackle the last remaining refuge—his bedroom. His fingers curled around the cold knob, and he froze for a second, afraid as well as hopeful of what he might find on the other side of that door. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and flung open the door just as another flash of lightning lit the room.

Nothing.

"I'm not mad." Remus repeated softly to himself as he steeled his nerves and began to search through what little hiding space there was in his room.

Nothing.

How could Sirius be here? He was locked and guarded in Azkaban. No one escaped from Azkaban. Remus wasn't entirely sure whether to be sad or happy about that fact. Exhausted, he flopped belly first onto his bed. It was small, the mattress was lumpy and the sheets were old and rough, but it was familiar. His hand went to the side where Sirius would have slept had he ever slept in this bed. The space was cool now, but if Remus pressed his face into the linens, he could still feel the scent that was so Sirius invading his mind and making him rather deliriously happy.

He was still tired from his change the night before, and added onto that the stresses of the day, it was quite understandable that he fell asleep right there, shoes and trousers still on and soaking wet.

He dreamed the same dream he'd had for the past thirteen years now. It wasn't even really a dream, just an unconscious re-visiting of a painful memory.

Remus was at the door, all of the things he could say were truly his—which was not much—were packed in one banged up trunk. He had thought to leave quietly, wait until morning and then send an owl with an explanation. He knew if he was confronted by Sirius in person that he'd never have the backbone to leave. Remus never had been good at confrontations.

Unfortunately for him, Sirius had picked that night to come home earlier than expected. He pulled open the door right as Remus was digging for his key to leave in the letterbox. Sirius' face broke out in a broad grin, which quickly turned into a scowl as he took in Remus' appearance and what he was towing.

"Going somewhere?" He fairly growled, knowing full well this wasn't an Order mission.

This question led to a long and exhausting argument, one which had been mercifully dulled and blurred by time. Remus had the vague feeling that he had said some things he regretted later. The next thing he saw coherently was Sirius, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. He was pale and his eyes showed pain and desperation, like an animal caught in a trap. Remus wanted so badly to drop what he carried, take Sirius into his arms, and kiss him until that look went away.

He almost did just that.

Almost.

"Now I suppose you're going to say you meant well, lying to me and hiding." Sirius said sadly. Remus opened his mouth, halfway through a nod, but Sirius cut him off. "Of course you did."

"But Sirius, this is really for the best." Remus tried to say, but Sirius cut out quickly. "Of course it is."

"Sirius, this is for the best—"

"You decided this."

"What?" Remus was caught off guard.

"This, the whole thing. It's stupid and I hate it. But it's your choice. Know that if you walk out that door, you'd better never come back."

And with that, Sirius had left, trudging up the stairs to their room. Remus stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, as sort of a parting jab, he called up. "I'm leaving."

From the upstairs bedroom came a muffled. "I don't care."

The sad part, Remus thought to himself on the damp walk to the station, is that it's true. Sirius Black could have any man or woman he desired.

But thankfully here was where the dream typically ended, melding into blessed nothingness. But this time it faded into something else.

There were warm fingers stroking cold, damp skin. The touch was hesitant at first, as if the owner of the fingers was afraid to break the one he touched, but after what seemed like hours, he grew more certain and his caresses reflected that. Soon strong hands were turning Remus over gently, so that he was lying on his back. One hand stayed there, serving to hold him close as the other body clambered down with him. The other hand was stroking Remus' chest, fingers following the pattern of scars and touching almost reverently the bruises from the night before.

"Moony-love, what's wrong? You were shaking." That voice was totally and completely familiar, and it made Remus' heart skip a beat. It was unmistakably Sirius' voice, but it wasn't the voice he dreamed of often. No, this was a new touch, and his voice was older, deeper, somehow more sad and more afraid.

Remus decided that he liked this dream.

"Mmmfine. Well, am now." Remus corrected. He tried to peer through the dream fog and get a better look, but his mind wasn't able to conjure an older Sirius, and so all he got was a dim-outline, "What're you doing here?" It's a dream Idiot, why do you _think_ he's here?

"I missed you. You and your beautiful brown eyes." Rumbles the lower Sirius voice.

"You are in _so_ much trouble." Remus said, teasing. Dreams couldn't be in trouble could they?

"No—well yes, but not tonight. Tonight, love, is yours."

"Ransom notes keep falling out of your mouth." Remus quips with a smile. "When could I ever resist your charm?"

"You did once." Sirius' voice said, and Remus reached a hand up to touch his face. "And I was so proud of you." The hand stopped midair, and an accusatory look crossed Remus' face.

"You're lying." Remus growled, anger hiding disappointment. The words sounded like they'd been clipped from a newspaper romance, there was no feeling behind them.

"No, I'm not." Sirius said, softly but firmly.

"I don't believe you."

"You hurt me—"

"No." Remus interrupted. "You didn't care a bit." His voice was cold, detached. "You don't care a bit."

That seemed to do the trick, for the dreamSirius didn't speak again, and after a while his caresses faded into the usual peacefulness of black and uninterrupted sleep.

When Remus awoke the next morning, his head hurt and his eyes were bloodshot, but it was surprisingly easy to stand. He must have slept really well—well, after those dreams—because his back and shoulders moved freely and without pain. With two cracks his neck shifted back into a comfortable position and he trudged downstairs, aware that his shoes and trousers were still damp.

He made a pot of coffee and stuck some bread in the toaster. It was still too early for the sun to invade his kitchen, and there was a pleasant breeze coming through the little window above the sink. He piled the toast on a plate, spread some jam and filled a chipped mug with coffee before heading in to the table.

There was a small space cleared from his rampage yesterday, and he set up there. He took a sip of his coffee—he'd taken to drinking it black of late, as milk was too expensive to use on a daily basis—and picked up the Daily Prophet from yesterday. He wondered briefly how the owl had gotten loose, and then realized he'd left the window open last night—the little one in the kitchen.

He turned to take a bite of his toast and chewed thoughtfully for a moment as he unfolded the paper. The headline made him nearly choke.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN

Notorious Killer On The Loose!

And there was the picture they'd taken of Black in his prison garb, wild and laughing and altogether looking quite the part of a deranged killer. Remus' face drained of all color. But it wasn't the headlines or the picture that had done it. On the table where the paper had been only a moment before, was a small parcel wrapped in tinfoil, and a scrap of parchment torn—he noted idly—from one of his lesson plans for the fall.

That hadn't been there yesterday.

He set down the paper and picked up the object, unwrapping it carefully, so as not to tear the foil. It seemed important just then not to break the quiet any more than was absolutely necessary. Inside was a slim bar of dark chocolate, it smelled spicy, with just a hint of orange. In one corner there were teeth marks that looked unmistakably canine.

He set the package aside, unaware that he was smiling. The parchment scrap he took and held for a long moment before unfolding it, afraid of what he would find written there. Sirius had killed three of their best friends, it seemed only right that he'd come back for Lupin. _Best for last._ The old Sirius would've said. It had a ring of poetic justice to it, however twisted. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and sure enough there was the old familiar handwriting, but what it said wasn't a death threat. It was worse. The words hit Remus in the stomach, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. The note slipped from his fingers and floated to the floor, tilted so the words were viewable from above.

_I do care._


	2. Welcome to My Life

_Do you ever feel like breaking down?_ Sirius Black wondered to himself as he sat on the end of Remus Lupin's bed, eyeing the torn and bruised body he'd once known very well. He leaned against the wall behind him, long, bony arms wrapped farther around his legs then they should have been able to be—he'd dropped more weight than he'd realized. He watched in contemplative silence as the man off to his right breathed the deep and even sleep of the utterly exhausted. It was dawn, and soon the sun would rise high enough to necessitate the closing of the thick and heavy drapes, but for now, it was pleasant enough to watch the soft light play along the contours of a beloved face.

Sirius knew that eventually someone would come to check on Remus, and that he had to be long gone by then. Sunrise had always brought Madame Pomfrey and that wouldn't be for a while yet—a small mercy—and so the filthy, battered wizard was content to lay his head back against the cool stone wall and simply watch.

The trip to Hogwarts had been long and difficult. He'd had to leave a full three days before the train just to be there in time for the full moon. But he had made it, though he'd missed the actual change. By the time he'd arrived, there was only a large tawny wolf panting in the center of the room. Lightning-fast, Sirius had changed, making sure the door was bolted behind him. He'd then lowered himself for that token fight, his lips curled up, his muscles tense and ready and then—

A warm, flat and mobile tongue lapped at his snout. Utter surprise had him frozen to the spot, and it wasn't until the jaws closed lightly along the bridge of his muzzle in canine greeting that he'd been shaken out of it. Confused but delighted at this turn of events, he'd simply wagged his tail, returning the greeting in kind.

It wasn't until after they'd both changed back that Sirius had noticed the empty goblet on the desk. _Wolfsbane,_ he thought to himself. Last he'd heard, it had been only in the experimental stages, but it was certainly possible things had changed. After all, his information was at least a month old. Hesitantly, Sirius reached over to the chest at the foot of the bed and grabbed Remus' wand. Only someone with the wand bearer's fullest trust could work it. So Sirius really wasn't really surprised when the goblet didn't move. Common sense would dictate that he just put the wand back where it came from.

Sirius being Sirius, he couldn't resist a second try.

To his shock, the goblet _moved_.

Granted, the thing only shifted an inch or so, and try as he might, it wouldn't work again, but it had moved. It had moved! As he turned sunken eyes on Remus' unconscious face, a rather painful emotion welled up in his chest, causing him to lose focus, letting the wand fall to the bed beside him. It was a moment before he could suppress the feeling long enough to breathe and analyze it. After years of imprisonment in a place where one had to feel nothing to survive, this sudden rush of sentiment was a bit more than he was ready for. It was not altogether a very pleasant feeling, nor was it all bad. But what did it mean?

_He must trust me,_ he mused. _Somewhere, deep down—even if it's the wolf—he still trusts me._ This of course was a great help in identifying the emotion—hope—that made his stomach do funny little flip-flops in his gut. Well, that could be the fact that he hadn't eaten in three days, but he wasn't thinking about that at the moment. Remus _trusted_ him. Merlin knew why, but he did. That thought alone was enough to put a goofy smile on his face—well; it would've been goofy on a healthier, _cleaner_ Sirius. Right now it looked rather frightening. Not that anyone could see it.

Remus would be furious if he knew that his clean sheets were being dirtied. But he wouldn't yell. He'd bite his lower lip and seethe in silence until he was alone, and then he'd very quietly clean the mess. Remus didn't yell. Only three times in his life had Sirius heard him raise his voice. The first had been in second year, when Sirius had asked Remus about his condition. When the small, quiet little boy had been cornered by the taller Sirius, he'd yelled at him to mind his own business. Sirius had been so stunned that he'd made no move to stop Remus' escape.

Oddly enough, when the three of them—James, Sirius and Peter—had confronted Remus, he'd been quiet and resigned. At least until they managed to convince him they didn't care and he was still a Marauder and what kind of mates would they be if they dumped him for something so silly? Once Remus was sure they really didn't mind, Sirius saw a genuine if hesitant smile appear in a face that didn't seem to smile nearly enough. From there on out, Sirius decided to make it his personal mission to get Remus to smile like that. He was already rather good at it, and he could only get better.

So it was that until the spring term of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Sirius had done just that—surprised how much easier it had gotten. But somewhere over Christmas—the first one he spent at Hogwarts with James and Remus—he'd gotten his fur rubbed wrong. He never could remember what started it, though Remus insisted later that he'd begun behaving strangely after he'd stormed in on a study session Remus was having with a fifth year Ravenclaw boy in an alcove of the library.

He'd been furious.

Who wouldn't have been? Sirius had made plans for the three of them to sneak down and ice skate on the frozen lake. When Remus hadn't shown up, he'd been disturbed—Moony was never late—and went tearing through the castle searching for him. When he couldn't locate him in any of their usual haunts, Sirius began to become scared; it was close to the full moon after all. Upon finding him holed up with some stranger, he'd been stunned enough for Remus—recognizing the signs of a Sirius about to explode—to get him out of the library before he'd started shouting. But once he had started, all hell broke loose. The Ravenclaw had wisely stayed inside the sanctuary, hidden behind a barricade of books, but Remus was not so lucky. Sirius railed at him for what must have been an hour, met only by stony silence. Eventually he'd paused long enough to demand Remus say something, at which point his dorm mate simply shrugged and said he'd lost track of the time and was sorry, could they please go now?

After that, it had become Sirius' main goal to get under Remus' skin. Why? He did not know. Maybe it was something in the water. Maybe it was his way of coping with the jealousy that he most certainly _didn't_ feel curl up in his gut when he saw the Ravenclaw leaning just a bit too close to Remus. Maybe he'd finally lost it. But for whatever reason, he wanted to see the Prefect lose his temper, and there was no better master of irritation than Sirius Black. He tried for months, using every trick in the book—and a good deal that were omitted from said book for reasons of safety and sanity. Still, Remus remained unruffled. If anything, he withdrew farther from his friends, spending more and more time buried in his books or in silent contemplation. Finally Sirius felt he had been pushed to the edge. He wanted to strike out at Remus in any way he could, and he could think of only one way that would hurt.

He sent Snape to the Whomping Willow.

Well, he'd asked for it. It seemed Snape wasn't as dimwitted as the Marauders tended to think, because he had figured out the quickest, easiest way to get Sirius Black riled up; insult Remus Lupin. Never mind that Sirius was mad at Remus at that point—and likely vice-versa—Severus Snape should never have opened his mouth.

Sirius had been scowling something fierce as he stormed through the dungeons after yet another detention with Slughorn. He had just rounded the last corner when he collided with his least favorite Slytherin.

"Watch where you're going!" he'd fairly roared, rounding on Snape.

"I'd say the same to you, only it'd be a waste of breath," Snape said a bit too smugly as he rose and brushed off his robes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Nothing of importance to you," Snape replied coolly, leaning forward to gather some of his things. "Only that I'm not surprised. Running after that mangy little halfblood pet of yours?" A heartbeat later, Sirius had him by the neck of his robes, slamming him back against the stone wall.

"Remus is twice the wizard you'll ever be Snivellus!" Sirius pushed him harder against the stone, his face twisted into a snarl.

The smile on Snape's face only broadened. "Well, you are kinder than I'd given you credit for."

This caught Sirius off guard. "What?"

Confident he'd caught the other boy's attention, Snape merely shrugged. "Well, if it'd been the object of _my_ perverted lust sneaking off with someone else, I certainly wouldn't be _complimenting_ him." This earned Snape a roar of rage and a sore backside as Sirius hurled him off to one side. With a positively wicked grin, he'd added the final touches to his bait. "Wonder where they've gone to…" Sirius grumbled something under his breath. "Sorry, didn't catch that," the rather greasy young man said from his position on the floor.

A wicked gleam lit Sirius' grey eyes.

"I'd tell you, but you'd only get yourself _whomped_."

He never thought the stupid git would go _in_ of course, just close enough to be scared shitless and figure a few things out. He realized later that he hadn't been thinking at all. Thankfully James saved Snape from an untimely demise, but he'd cut it close; close enough for the werewolf to smell its prey. Driven to far extremes of madness by the inability to reach prey so close by, the wolf turned on itself with an unusual ferocity. When Madame Pomfrey found Remus the next morning, she'd thought he was dead.

Remus didn't leave the hospital wing for two weeks.

Sirius was sorry of course. He visited once when Remus was asleep. _Wonder if Moony ever found out about that,_ he thought idly, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from the new professor's face, noting the similarities between the two sleeping Moonies—past and present. But after that, he'd stayed clear of the hospital wing. He didn't think he could face those silently reproachful eyes and keep his temper, so he kept himself busy.

After all, there were plenty of girls at Hogwarts.

So it was, when Moony was finally released and allowed to return to the dorm, it was to the welcome of Sirius snogging a rather fetching blonde while seated on the edge of his bed; a bed that just so happened to be next to Remus'. This was too much. With the air of an injured teenager, Remus had shot him a spectacular glare and stormed over to his bed, shut the curtains, and cast a Silencing Spell. Suddenly Sirius lost all interest in his blonde, and sent her away with a kiss and a swat on her rear. Needless to say, she wasn't very happy about it, but at least she went without a fuss. With that out of the way, Sirius swaggered over to Remus' bed, confident that he'd finally gotten a reaction out of him. He wasn't prepared for the scene behind the curtains though.

Remus was crying.

This in and of itself was enough of a blow to make Sirius recoil. Remus, looking up into his face, looked about as feral as Sirius had ever seen him. Looking back, he realized the sight had been…rather arousing. It was like the look he got just before Changing, but more frightening, because this time Remus was in control, and he was a lot smarter than a wolf.

"Fuck off," he snarled, his battered body tensing.

Sirius backed up another step. It was the first time he'd heard Remus swear.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said _fuck off_!"

"Moony…I-" Sirius had stuttered out.

"No, do _not_ start with me Black. I have had about as much of you as I can take. Of course, it's really my own fault. I was a fool to think someone like you would understand." This took Sirius aback, but within two breaths he was angry again, his voice a growl low in his throat.

"What do you mean _someone like me_?" Remus' use of his surname had stung, but he wasn't about to show that.

"Just what I said. Someone like you, who's never felt out of place, never found somewhere they don't belong. You could never understand."

"Merlin Remus, you must have missed the fact that I left my family this summer. _Left_ as in they set the dogs on me, would have killed me if they'd gotten the chance," he snapped back, eyes narrowing. "And maybe if you stopped running away every time someone gets close, it'd be easier to understand!"

"I'm not the one who locks himself up here with the music loud enough to drive him deaf." Remus rose from his bed, striding towards the door. "So I guess you'd know about running away, wouldn't you? You should really think about casting a Silencing charm sometime, your music doesn't drown out the screams," he snapped, gripping the handle and flinging open the heavy oak door.

It slammed shut before he could leave, Sirius' body leaning against it.

"Though considering your penchant for angst and drama, I'm not surprised. You have the amazing capacity to make a mountain out of a molehill, a talent you display _daily_!"

"At least I'm not a wet blanket! That's why people can't stand you Moony, you spoil everything with that superior attitude of yours!"

"Unlike you, I want something more permanent than the instant gratification you get from a good prank here or a great shag there. I need something more than that, and I don't see the point in joining in an activity that would do me more harm than good!

"I'm sick of this place Sirius! I'm stuck inside of a world that hates me, _hates_ me for something that isn't even my fault! So you'll forgive my refusal to join in on its favored pastimes."

Sirius rolled his eyes, still leaning heavily against the door. "And you think I like this? I'm just as sick of this as you are. Everyone strolling about with their big fake smiles, using each other and ruining lives over stupid lies while deep inside—" Here he paused, a look of horror crossing his face. "You're bleeding."

Remus narrowed his eyes, arms folding across his chest. "Very dramatic, Black, in fact I'd say that was almost poetic. Now if you're finished I'd-"

"No, you twit! You're _bleeding_!" Sirius pointed to a scar on Remus' collarbone—just visible framed by his V-neck button up shirt. He moved as if to touch it, but Remus flinched away, something unreadable blazing in his normally placid amber eyes.

"Don't touch me." Remus took a deep breath, and now his voice was shaking with suppressed rage, though he'd quieted it some. "No one ever lied to your face." He was seemingly determined to continue their fight.

"No one ever stabbed you in the back!" Sirius had retorted, a bit of bite to his tone. He reached for Remus again, and this time got a grip on the collar of his shirt and was examining the place where Remus' wound had opened. "You seem to think I'm so happy with my life, but the truth is that I'm not." He watched with equal parts horror and fascination as a drop of blood ran from the wound down the werewolf's smooth skin. There was an odd pooling of heat in his belly, and he wanted to touch that skin, to be that drop of blood caress—_Stop it!_ He'd told himself this was not an acceptable train of thought many, many times. It never seemed to make a difference. "Some days I wake up and I don't think I'll ever be ok. So it isn't a piece of cake on my end either."

Remus ripped away from him, his cheeks colored pink with a mixture of fury and something else. "How can you complain? Everyone's always given you what you wanted. You've never had to work for it either, it was just always there! You don't know what it's like to want and pine after someone—thing, some_thing_ you know you can't have, or even just have to work for. You don't know what it's like to be me!" Here he paused, sucking in breath.

Sirius could only stare.

"After so long, a bloke gets tired of working, gets tired of wanting. I'm tired damn it! I don't know what I did for you to start hating me, but I'm quickly ceasing to care! I've been patient, and I—" Remus was cut off by hands on his face and a mouth pressed to his. For what seemed like an eternity he didn't move, but then something seemed to snap, and he began returning the kiss with a fervor that took the older boy by surprise.

"When will you learn to just take what you want?" Sirius asked him softly once their lips had parted. Remus hadn't answered—at least not vocally—but his response to Sirius' second kiss was proof enough of his sentiments.

Much older and a little bit wiser, Sirius Black sat on the end of Remus' bed, gazing fondly at the sleeping man nestled in blankets and sheets. The sun's light was just beginning to peek through the window, illuminating the simple covers and one of Remus' hands that had shifted to dangle off of the bed in his sleep. Sirius rose and pulled shut the heavy drapes before turning back and placing the errant hand back on the bed.

For a long moment Sirius stood there, his left hand caressing the distinct line of Remus' jaw. He knew it was time to leave, but he found it extremely difficult to tear his eyes away from the sleeping man before him. The air was still, but heavy as the ex-convict took one of Remus' own quills and parchment sheaves and scrawled a quick message, folding it carefully and placing it in the werewolf's palm, curling long fingers around it protectively. That done, he rose and slipped out the door before changing to Padfoot, what he'd written repeating itself in his head as he slunk down and out of the castle.

_Once, I could just take what I wanted; now I know I have to work for it, pine for it. I think I understand now. This is what you meant._

It wasn't much, and leaving it had been dangerous, but the run from the castle to the forest was pleasant and mercifully uninterrupted. He could let Padfoot take over, the dog's mind streamlining his thoughts and squeezing out unnecessary musings.

It helped, a little.


End file.
